Broken In the Aftermath
by FreakGleek
Summary: For all I know- WE didn't fall in love, I did. And at the wrong time, too. (One-shot)


**Hello! :) So, I've been thinking about this since December, and now with all these Warm Bodies trailers out, I can't help myself. That, and while I'm trying to write my other fanfiction, I can only think of this so I want it out there now! :P Anyways, IF you ARE following my other story, I've taken this opportunity to tell you that it is NOT ABANDONED AT ALLL. I've been pecking at it and whatnot but I still have writers block with it :/ but I hope you enjoy this one-shot!**

Juggling highschool life is no easy task, that's for sure. And for the three most popular girls in McKinley; peer pressure, parents, cheerleading, glee, homework and maintaining a respected social status; life consisted of frequent sacrifices in exchange for that previously mentioned popularity. But the sacrifices were, most of the time, worth it- as they lived enjoyable lives. These lives, though busy, were quite charished in the three hands of these highschool girls.

That is, until we died.

Actually no, I'll rephrase that; until I died. And Britt. As far as _I_ know, Quinn's still kicking around somewhere. You see, when the plague hit, we underestimated it. Our hopes were that; not getting infected was just another thing we had to add to our list of things to do. We were pretty positive that if we could just stay a couple steps ahead of the epidemic, we'd all be fine. It was an unfortunate state of denial we lived in; when it really struck Lima that's when it hit me, too. The reality of the situation just came around full circle and kicked me- hard- in the lady balls. Part of that kick was probably the fact that it was my own neighbour, Mrs. Bell, that got it first. Perhaps I'm naive and stupid (Alright, that's not a 'perhaps') but the first form of action I took was to call that one admittedly soft badass who played a lot of video games that I knew;  
Puckerman.  
One thing lead to another- and next thing I knew, this squirrel-haired boy was leading our Glee group to safety; his number one plan was Alaska. Or somewhere far up in the Canadian arctic plains.  
We made it pretty far, I think. Living place to place for a while, stocking up, and then moving on again. We lost a few, Blaine, Tina, Mercedes, Finn... Brittany. That hurt, we were stupid.  
_I_, was stupid. I thought that field was safe and we went for a walk... She got bit and I refused to put her down.  
In all honesty I lost it. Hysterical. I'd tie her hands and muzzle her mouth just so I could drag her along with me. Love is something dangerous- and I loved Brittany with every fibre in my body. Love.  
Then something went wrong and I got bit. Before I went, I insisted Puck not shoot us, leave us in this house we were staying in together. He couldn't say no.

Oh well, at least we tried, I suppose.

I imagined being dead would be a lot different. You know, incoherent grunting, slobbering, aimlessly wandering and an intense lust for brains. That last ones true, I'm not gonna lie. But everything else? Not so much. You'd be surprised how much still goes on up here. There are probably more drawbacks, such as the smell, for one. And that bloodlust you're probably familiar with. But, I mean, I still remember some words. Actually I remember a lot- but my tongue can only form a few. And wandering? Please, we aren't that dumb, evidently- we have motive. We're lost... That's a lie, I'm not.  
Brittany is. And where Brittany goes, I know to follow. I do all in my power not to lose her- when I woke up from turning I remember how panicked I was; she was no where in sight. Turns out she had just wandered downstairs but I didn't think the dead could be so afraid.  
I also didn't ever think they could be hurt. But that is always around, I'm always hurting about Brittany; she isn't who she was anymore. That cute bubbly girl I've known since I was seven that believed in Santa and magic, had become entirely independent. She never acknowledged me shuffling behind her until I _made_her notice me. This comes with the fact that her taste for flesh is even stronger than mine. I guess it hits some harder than other. She's... hungry. All the time. It's taken a bit of a toll on our friendship.

Don't get me wrong, I still love her. I still love everything about her. Everything, especially that semi happy look she gets when she finishes a meal. Almost a smile.  
But she doesn't even need me anymore.

We zombies try to move in packs- it's pretty difficult to roam it alone, easy targets and we're slow, too. Of course it'd be the two of us if we were to try to rock it that way. After a while we migrated to the city, where we easily sifted in with all the other dead- it still makes me uncomfortable. With all of them, I'm even more at risk of losing Brittany, and I worry. But I've also learned a lot about... our species? Turns out, we do have plans when we see the living on rare occasions; its not just a throng and kill. There are the little details; you go this way, you go that way, you go over there. It's like a telepathic thing.  
Of course we forget where we're supposed to go by the time we've walked six steps, but hey.  
We're trying.

In this city we've come to, there are a lot of things to distract Brittany; the other zombies, those big buildings... She may have become independent, but one quirk had stayed; her attention span of a gnat, mixed with the short-term memory and spaciness, that is.  
Those things were a deadly combination; it left me fighting for a scrap of attention.

"Britt." I grunted, jerkily sitting down beside her on a curb outside a small grocery store. Inside we'd found a group of survivors stocking up, perhaps they planned on spending a night.  
Well, they weren't exactly survivors anymore.

"Ungh?" She replied, taking another chunk out of the arm of one of the not-so-alive survivors.

"I..." I started. Damn. I knew exactly what I was trying to say in my head but it was much more hard to spit it out, "Need to... talk." _To you_. Clearly that part would be left out. No big deal, I hope she gets what I'm trying to say to her anyways.

Brittany looked up from the stringy limb, a fresh line of blood dribbling down her chin, "Sure."

My best friend had only been dead perhaps a week longer than I had, but it still seemed that her functions were fading faster than mine, for some reason. It made me bitterly upset, her voice was fading and she seemed to have become even more absent minded in the last few days.  
I missed the sound of her voice.

"I... Miss you." I told her honestly. There was more to say but, I can't stress it enough- my own delayed functions prevented it. Brittany looked at me, half intrigued now; I remember when she was curious about something when she was alive, her vibrant blue eyes would sparkle even brighter. Now, in the dead, they had become clouded over from lack of pulse, and the little colour left seemed to drip out a little more everyday. Her skin greyed, and rotted more- much like mine.

"Mmmph." She grumbled, reaching over- for the first time in a long time, she was going touch me. And I swear that made my heart beat, even if just once. I watched her hand like a hawk, as she leaned over, and grabbed the string of intestine I'd abandoned on the opposite side of me.  
It was a false alarm.

"Put down... the arm, please." I was nearly desperate, as I reached out to her and pulled away both the arm and intestine from her weak grasp, and placed it between us. Brittany snarled angrily at her loss of meal, nostrils flaring. Taken aback by her aggresive outburst toward me, I held up my hands. I reminder of my actual life- that let people know you mean no harm. Britt was forcing herself to look at me, I could tell, as she kept glancing down at the food on the ground, and how her mouth hung open slightly.

"Talk." She finally says- but it seems as more of a command as she continues to look down at the appendiges- obviously more interested there.

"Do you... remember... glee?" I ask, reaching out, wanting more but to clasp her hands in mine. She pulls away, unsure with what I am doing.

I wait. She doesn't respond.

"What about me?" I scoot closer- my soul begging for her to know me. Recognize me. _Love_me.

She sits there, staring. Truthfully I wasn't sure if she was struggling for an answer- if it was there on the tip of her tongue- or if she was ogling at me as a pest who's point I hadn't got to, and I was keeping her from her meal. I want to tell her who I am, help her out, but I know that would defeat the purpose.

"Bri-ttany." I prompted her. She had to remember. She continued to stare at me, and I can physically feel myself giving up. If I were alive, I think this feeling would be heartbreak. Know what, I think I may actually collapse if she doesn't reply, "Who am I?"

Brittany looks away, forward, vacantly at the building across the street. "Please..." I try once more, "Who am... I?"

If only I remembered how to count- I'd want to count the seconds it took before she looked at me again, still no sign of recognition in her eyes.

"Mine." She finally grunted, "Mine. You're Santana. You're mine."

**Please review :) If you really liked it, let me know, and when I'm done STRWNS I may add onto this story :D**


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